The next day, while Respected Jei worked on getting an appointment with Archmage Luspire, Mirian went to see if she could reclaim an old new friendship. She headed over to the lakeview district to an apartment surprisingly close to Xipuatl’s place, and knocked on the door of Nicolus Sacristar.

Naturally, it was Sire Nurea who answered, left hand still lingering on the door knob, right hand casually close to her belt.

Mirian gave the honorary bow to her and said, “Hi. Do you know who I am yet?”

“Yes,” said Nurea, stone-faced.

“Great! Can I talk to Nicolus about—”

“No.” She started to shut the door.

Mirian stuck her foot inside slightly. “Oh come on, give me more than five seconds! You know, last time you approached me. Listen, I can help House Sacristar.”

Nurea looked unimpressed. “I doubt that,” she said, and started putting pressure on the door while Mirian kept her foot there.

The conversation hadn’t gone at all like she’d planned. Both Nurea and Nicolus were clever about gaining social advantages, negotiating deals, and getting people to help their interests, so she’d thought that was the tactic she needed to lead with. Mirian realized she’d miscalculated, though. That might work on Nicolus, but Sire Nurea prioritized one thing above all else: her ward’s safety. For her, the other stuff was just a consequence of that primary motivation. “I can save Nicolus’s life,” she said.

That got Nurea to stop. “Are you threatening us?”

“What? No! Gods, would you stop being so paranoid for once? Look, whatever you want to believe about how I got it, I have knowledge of the future. Knowledge of several futures, at this point—so I know you. I know Nicolus. I’m his classmate, not some Palamas baron. We were study partners. We read alchemistry books in the library together. He got grease on the pages.”

Nurea was still glaring at her, but she’d stopped pushing on the door, and her hand wasn’t so close to her belt anymore. That was progress.

“Look, Akana Praediar’s planning some sort of war. You won’t learn about it until Nicolus’s uncle off in Akana Praediar sends a letter on the night of the 20th. That’s your first piece of information. For free. Because I care about Nicolus.”

“He’s never mentioned you.”

“Because he doesn’t know me yet. But I know how the war goes. I know where it’s safe, and where it’s not.” She didn’t mention, nowhere is safe, because then Nurea would really not listen.

Nurea looked her over, like she was a fancy painting she was assessing the value of. “What do you get in return?”

“If I stop the attack, my friends don’t die. You’re not the only one protecting someone.”

That seemed to finally get through to Nurea. Mirian saw it in the way her gaze softened. She wasn’t seeing Mirian as her opponent anymore. “Alright. We’ll talk. Do you like tea?”

“Yes, please. Something floral.”

Sire Nurea, it turned out, had a cabinet full of exotic teas, most of which Mirian had never heard of. Well, everyone needed hobbies, didn’t they? While something called ‘velvet winter’s sorrow’ brewed, they talked.

“Nicolus is out drinking, then?” Mirian asked.

“Of course,” she said with a sigh.

“Doesn’t he have registration today? No, wait—I bet I know. There’s some weird bureaucratic process where you can submit registration early by proxy, but only if you fill out four different forms that each cost a hunk of silver to obtain.”

“So you do know me,” Nurea muttered. Louder, she said, “There’s only three forms involved, but you’re not likely to get the last one approved unless your family donates substantial amounts to the Academy. Anyways, I’ve told Nicolus to hurry back. He needs to hear whatever you have to say.”

“Oh?”

“You spend five years at this place tutoring someone in magic and you pick up a thing or two.” She did not elaborate on the spell mechanism she’d used.

They were sitting at an ivory-topped table by the window sipping the tea when Nicolus burst in. The tea tasted vaguely minty, but with lavender notes and some other flavor that Mirian couldn’t quite place. She turned as the door opened.

“Nur, this better be good because I was winning five-one in Juggler’s Jig and I’d—oh. You. I know you. You’re that weirdo who does calculus for fun.” Nicolus looked at Nurea, made a face, then held up a finger. “Nope, don’t say it. That was undiplomatic, which is a weird word. Sounds like someone didn’t get a diploma. Sorry, you’re that awkward girl who perseveres in class and is really c… uh….”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Two pints.” When Nurea glared at him, Nicolus admitted, “Okay, four. Maybe six. Look, this was our big celebration, no one looks for a forbidden party in the morning.”

“And I did intend to honor your day off, but plans change. This is Mirian,” Nurea said.

Nicolus froze. “Ohhhhh shit. Wait, you’re Mirian? You killed a guy.”

“Nicolus.”

“Right, five hell—Nur, give me a damned elixir, I know you have one.” Quieter, he said, “I can always punish my liver later.”

Nurea went to one of the cabinets and pulled out a small red vial, which she feigned throwing at Nicolus. He seemed to be used to this tactic, though, because he just rolled his eyes and held out his hand until she placed it there, then quaffed it and put his head down on the table. Nicolus would sober up in a few minutes, Mirian knew, though the process wouldn’t be pleasant. Practical alchemistry at its finest.

“So why are you coming to us? What’s the offer?” Nurea said.

Mirian told them, going with the same basic story of the war and leyline eruptions that she’d told the spy. She talked about the study sessions, and what she’d learned from the spies. She didn’t mention Nurea dying in the train car. “So I need your help. Nicolus, your uncle knows something. Even the spies don’t know about the attack on the embassy planned in Palendurio, but somehow, your uncle does. I need to know what he knows. He may be key in stopping the war from even beginning.”

Nicolus, who by now was sitting upright, said, “Huh.”

Nurea had started grinding her teeth.

Mirian knew she needed to start addressing Nurea’s concerns. She said, “If Idras’s message to Akana Praediar works, we may have time. A lot more time.” The lie felt bitter coming off her tongue, but Nurea wasn’t a fool. Mirian had constructed her story carefully, but not well enough.

Nurea clearly suspected Mirian was planning for future cycles, which meant they would die in this one. “I need a map and a timeline of the magical eruptions. A back-up plan. I won’t accept a deal otherwise.”

Mirian closed her eyes. She could make up something, but it would only take one zephyr falcon arriving with news of an early eruption Mirian didn’t know about for the scheme to evaporate weeks early. From what Idras had said, she was beginning to suspect these magical eruptions weren’t exactly new, they were just dramatically increasing in frequency. “I don’t have that yet.”

Nurea’s eyes narrowed. “Then there’s no deal. I need assurances that my ward will stay safe. I need—”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Nur, she can’t,” Nicolus said.

“Boy, don’t interrupt. My decisions take precedence in matters of—”

“Not a boy anymore. I know you’re still thinking of that pudgy little toddler who liked to play on high stone walls and sneak into the armory, but I’m an adult now. I’ll have full rights in a year. And this isn’t something you can control, any more than she can.”

Sire Nurea stood, smashing her hand down on the table hard enough Mirian involuntarily scooted back in her chair. She was livid, but she didn’t say anything, she just stared at Nicolus.

Nicolus didn’t flinch though. “Mirian, how many times have you died?”

“Thirteen.”

“Nur, you can’t protect me from the world forever. And I have been listening.” He stood and put his hand on his knight’s shoulder.

Sire Nurea closed her eyes. She was holding back tears, Mirian realized. This was her nightmare: something she couldn’t protect him from. “I can’t,” she said.

“You don’t have to. I’ve got this.” He squeezed her shoulder.

Nurea nodded, then left, her cloak swirling as she grabbed it and put it on, not slowing as she walked out the door.

Nicolus stared at the closed door for a bit, then looked at Mirian. “Sorry about that,” he said. “There’s… a bit of a history there. Nothing you need to worry about.”

“She’s pulled a pistol on me several times.”

“Right, fair enough, you do need to worry about it. We’ll work something out. I can get a letter off to my uncle. How much do you know about what the Sacristar family has been up to?”

“A little. You’re trying to shift the Sacristar holdings to something more modern. Getting a foothold in Akana Praediar, since the other noble families have too tight a grip on the new industries in Baracuel. Your uncle’s establishing key contacts there. Where is he, exactly?”

“Vadriach. Well, he bounces back and forth between there and Mercanton. They’re both practically right next to each other, it’s only a few hours on the train. Vadriach has all the politicians, Mercanton has all the big money.” Nicolus sat back down, and looked out the window, out at Torrviol Lake. “Uncle Alexus has his finger on the pulse of Akana. There’s… rumors. Something big in the works. I thought he meant investment opportunities. He’s mostly been looking into joint stock companies, especially those that are starting to corner key parts of the spell engine market. ‘Follow the energy,’ is what he likes to say. And he’s not wrong. Civilization is built on it.”

Mirian frowned, not entirely sure where the conversation was going. “Like magical energy?”

“If it turns a wheel, it counts. The more wheels it turns, the more important. Magic is important, but an individual spellcaster can only do so much. Spell engines are the key part of society now. They’re used to build things on scales we could only dream of two hundred years ago. They keep the myrvites out. They’re used to make and do everything. Transportation. Clothing. Buildings. Tools.” He paused. “Weapons.”

“You’ve talked about this all before, though not as directly.”

“Have I? Well, I need to lay the theory out, because if there’s a war, it’s about control of energy. That means spell engines, and the two critical components that run them: fossilized myrvite, and conduit crystals. Everything else is too dispersed to corner the market on, despite what Calisto likes to say. The war in Persama is about fossilized myrvite. The war in Zhighua is about conduit crystals. Oh, the politicians and press will tell you it’s about religion, or dignity, or civilizing projects, or protecting people, or even some ridiculous high minded ideal they read in a philosophy book, but it’s not. But you’ve just said there’s a third source of energy.”

Mirian gave him a quizzical look. “I did?”

“Well, maybe we can’t control it. But even if we can’t, enough people in power just have to think we can, and they’ll fight for it. The Divine Monument. If Akana thinks it's a weapon that can control something like the leylines, and more, it’s a limited resource that can be decisively controlled, it becomes a third pillar of empire. Whatever else people are going on about, it’s all a veil. Regular people care about things like having a good life, eating well, talking with friends, and finding love. The elite care about power and control. They obsess over it, and are terrified of losing it.”

“And what about you?”

Nicolus turned and looked at her. “I think that those who have power get to decide what kind of world we have. I’d like to make the one we have… better. Wouldn’t you?”

“Of course,” Mirian said. “I just… I never saw that as a possibility. Except, now I guess I have to… I need to understand it all. So I can save—but I guess this is about more than just saving Torrviol, isn’t it? It’s just—it’s all so big.”

“I’ll help you,” Nicolus said. “Not altruistically. I’m already way too jaded for that—nasty part of studying political economy is it does that to you—but because I want to have a hand in how the world turns. So in exchange, I want in.”

“You want… in?”

“Yeah. Whatever project you end up building.”

“I don’t know what I’m building,” Mirian said.

“If what you’ve told me is true, you’ve got a lot of time to figure that out. Me, I guess I won’t remember saying all this. But you will. And every person you talk to will give you this small piece of themselves and their ideas. You get to carry those pieces of people into the future. Gather enough pieces, and you’ll assemble something the rest of us can only dream of.”

Mirian scrutinized him, and this time she saw more than just a handsome young man, and more than an easygoing study partner. She felt… different about him, in a way she didn’t fully understand. “You know, Nicolus, you’re a lot smarter than you pretend to be.”

Nicolus gave her that big goofy smile of his. Mirian liked that smile. It was so genuine. “Don’t go spreading that around. I have a reputation to maintain. So you’ll do it?”

“I’ll do what I can. You’re in.” She reached out her hand, and they shook on it. Briefly, she thought again of the last time their hands had clasped. The world had been ending. This time, she felt like it was a beginning. She’d found a second person who understood—really understood—the implications of the time loop.

“Great. I’ll start drafting a letter to Uncle Alexus tonight. And I’ll give some thought into how to better facilitate our partnership in the future. Because… we’re all going to die again, aren’t we?”

Mirian took a deep breath in. “We are. Over and over. But I won’t give up. I promise.”

***

The next person she needed to talk to was Valen. She still had mixed feelings about her. Valen was loyal, but something of a wild card. She was interesting, but annoying. And because of the way she felt about Mirian, she was easy to manipulate. But she also knew she was being manipulated, and seemed to revel in it. For all that Mirian understood the girl, she was still alien to her.

Mirian cast a disguise spell before meeting up with her, then used the code-phrase to identify herself that Valen had insisted they use. It all seemed a bit ridiculous, but Valen was enjoying her role as spymaster.

“How’s it been going?” Mirian asked as they walked through the north gardens by the Myrvite Studies building. They could hear the calls of the wyverns in their pens, which Mirian remembered Valen enjoyed listening to.

Valen rolled her eyes. “It’s a mess. No one knows what’s going on, but that doesn’t stop them from loudly proclaiming what they think as objective fact. Mayor Wolden’s definitely out, though. Archmage Luspire doesn’t know if he should cancel classes or not. For all the people who’ve heard that you’re at the center of this, plenty have no idea. They’ve heard that it’s Professor Cassius who’s time traveling, or think you’re not a student at all, but just pretending to be one. You got to interrogate an actual Akanan spy?”

“Yeah.”

“So envious.”

“I learned how they’re relaying messages. Magistrate Ada is going to have people keeping an eye on the derelict tower north of town, but the more eyes we have looking for people moving out of town, the better. There’s definitely a second cell, and the Impostor is a Baracueli. Is there a Deeps unit here in Torrviol?”

“You don’t know that already?”

Mirian glared at her.

“Fine. I don’t know either.”

“Can you… ask your dad?” Valen hadn’t said all that much about her father, beyond his exploits as a spy.

“I can, but I don’t think he’ll say much. And I’ll have to dig him up from the cemetery in Cairnmouth first.”

Mirian grimaced. “Eugh. Don’t think you mentioned that before. Sorry.”

Valen shrugged. “Eh. I’ve had time to get over it. If there is a Deeps unit here, there would be at least four of them. But there’s too many Akanan spies for that. Unless they all managed to be turn-coats, which I really doubt. But maybe there’s a Syndicate presence. They don’t care all that much for nationalities.”

“You don’t know that already?”

Valen rolled her eyes again, which was her favorite pastime. “I’ll look into it. Also, I sent a letter to my brother in Fort Aegrimare like you asked. It’s a fort, though. There’s not going to be suspicious activity that isn’t related to the infantry hiding all the drinking and gambling they’re secretly doing.”

“Excellent,” Mirian said. Then she raised an eyebrow. “Ready?”

She could see Valen’s haughty attitude draining out of her, replaced by wide-eyed anticipation. “Yes,” she whispered.

Mirian leaned over and they kissed, just for a moment. It was gentle, and tantalizing. When they were done, she wanted more, and she could tell Valen did too. But she stopped, and stepped away from her.

Valen stayed there a moment, eyes closed, then said, “Ohhh, you’re evil, you know that? Alright, I’ll see you around.”

As she watched Valen go, she still didn’t know what to think about it. It still felt weird to have power over someone, but that was exactly what Valen had said she enjoyed when they’d mapped out their deal. She had to give her credit: she knew what she liked, and unlike Mirian, she didn’t seem to carry any self-doubt with her.

She thought of Nicolus. What am I building? she wondered. She realized that some part of her still thought there might be a ‘normal’ after this. That when it was all over, she would graduate, and her family would cheer as she walked across the stage. Then she’d settle down in a cozy artifice shop and create a nice, subdued life. Just a dream, she thought. She let her disguise spell fade away, flecks of light breaking off her like leaves falling, and headed back into Torrviol.

For now, she would keep her focus here. Somehow, fate has conspired to make the town a fulcrum, where armies and spies clashed over a relic of the Gods. And whatever future she was building, she wanted to keep this second home of hers safe.